Curse of the Celts by Clara O'Connor (most romantic novels .TXT) 📕

She nodded slowly.

“I think so. It is a miracle he found you. That alone would have saved him, had we gone north directly. But if they are gathering a court for a trial proper, the lords will never be able to look past history being repeated.”

“It wasn’t exactly his choice.” I threw my eyes up in the air. How could I reason with people if they wouldn’t listen to logic? It was the same here as in Londinium. It wasn’t about the truth, it was about how the truth was presented. If leading the newly recovered Lady of the Lake on a detour was a hanging offence, then we would remove the offence.

One small snag though.

“I’ll make sure Devyn agrees to go along with keeping my identity quiet,” I promised. One way or another I would make sure of it. “But you two aren’t the only ones who know.”

“Marcus?” she guessed, her face tightening as if she had just eaten something bad. The only woman in the land who didn’t like Marcus.

“Yes, but he’s not the problem.”

“Then who?” she asked.

“Gideon.”

“What?” Her exclamation was overly loud in the quiet hallway. “How?”

“He figured it out on the way to Dinas Brân.” How to explain that Gideon and I had had a brief truce? “I’ll talk to him.”

“We’re doomed.”

“Don’t be so dramatic.” It wasn’t like it was a matter of life and death to get Gideon to continue to keep my secret from his friend to save a man he despised… Ha. “I’ll figure it out.”

I winked at her as I whirled out of the alcove. And I’d thought today was going to be such a good one. Red sky in the morning indeed.

We rejoined the party in the great hall, where the new arrivals were throwing down warming drinks provided by their still hostile host. I sat demurely by Marcus as the tale of our journey north was laid out for the king of Mercia, who listened intently. He gave no sign that he hadn’t already dismissed the events outside entirely from his mind.

He questioned Gideon and Marcus closely, directing an occasional icy query at Bronwyn when they got to the point where we had decided to split up. Bronwyn’s initial embrace outside had suggested that they were usually on friendlier terms, proving our guess that Deverell’s anger at having to hunt down Devyn himself had not been well received.

His gaze rested on me with mild interest at points when I was mentioned in the tale, but he didn’t ask anything of me directly. I felt Gideon’s amber gaze linger on me from time to time, but I refused to meet his eyes.

Rion Deverell sat straight in his chair, deigning to turn his head from time to time and subjecting the talker to his considered gaze. His unwavering attention took in not just what they said but what their choice of words left unsaid, what their body language added, and the expressions of those around them as they listened. Here was a man used to following every move on the chessboard, one who liked to know all his available moves and the motivations of each player.

His eyes were cobalt blue where mine were aqua, and his hair lifted in a wave from a wide forehead already showing lines, even though he was only a few years older than me. Where my hair was tawny, his was caramel and gold, long in the same style as his warriors but pulled back and constrained at the nape of his neck. His strong jawline was stubbled – the only real evidence of having been on the road. Occasionally a glimmer of warmth broke through and his lips would tug slightly up at the right where I could almost see a dimple. It was barely there and, like mine, visible only on the right side. He dropped his eyelids often as he listened, concealing his thoughts, his chin always lifted at an arrogant angle. He was utterly self-contained and off-puttingly regal in his bearing. But every now and then, his eyes flicked to the door, his fingers fidgeting with a ring on his left hand.

His jaw flexed as he was told of Gideon’s knife being thrown at the end of the fight with Bronwyn, his eyes flinty as he checked Gideon. It was the first sign of emotion I had spotted as I sat taking in every detail I could. Was he annoyed at Gideon’s recklessness or because he had hurt Devyn?

Gideon met his lord’s censure with an insouciant smirk but gave the lie to his defiance by explaining that we now knew that the knife had not been the source of the poison. Bronwyn added that had Gideon’s knife not drawn and exposed the poison to the surface, we would never have known it was there until it was too late.

Those blue eyes widened slightly as the tale continued to the episode where the hounds of Samhain had pursued us.

He nodded at the decision to split up, expressing interest at the cuffs that had required Gideon to take the city pair while Bronwyn had retained his warriors to keep the slower party protected.

His head tilted slightly as Gideon told of our passage through the valleys with the hounds in pursuit. Gideon failed to mention that we had received aid from York on the road, but I had the uncanny notion that Rion Deverell was already making a note to speak further to Gideon in private. Did he deem that the decision to use the warriors to protect Devyn had put unnecessary risk on Marcus?

His lids almost concealed those sea-storm eyes entirely as Bronwyn described the events at Dinas Brân. He barely moved as he listened, almost as if acknowledging the fact that Rhodri Glyndŵr still lived would be to give him too much consideration.

“Why continue west after?” He spoke without inflection, but his hands splayed out in his lap then curled back into tight balls. His fingers again twisted the gold ring.

Bronwyn cast